


Opposites

by oswhine



Series: Four [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Harry, M/M, Post-War, Spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 10:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5703526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oswhine/pseuds/oswhine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a perfect day for Harry to avoid his problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opposites

_It’s raining, it’s pouring._ Storm drains in the streets surged with water. Basements flooded. Raindrops drummed furiously on rooftops, making their presence known. Puddles gathered on sidewalks like an infection, keeping everybody inside, as if they were afraid to catch it. 

Almost everyone. 

Harry Potter walked the streets with his hood up, soaked from head to foot, too tired to cast a spell to make his jacket impervious to water. And too preoccupied with a letter tucked in the inner pocket, delivered that morning by a clumsy Great Gray owl, one that Harry knew well. He had known as soon as the bird had hit the kitchen window who it was from, and some idea of what was in it. Nothing good. 

Hermione would have told him he was trying to run away from his problems, avoiding them by walking the rain-cleansed streets. Maybe he would have listened to her. But she wasn’t here now. He was alone. 

He had thought he was walking unconsciously, just wandering, before he realised he was standing in front of a familiar brick building, its windows shaded by a tree, its leaves weighed down by droplets of water. 

_What the hell_. He was sick of being alone. He felt the need for company in the marrow of his bones. But he didn’t want the kind of company that would expect things from him. 

He pressed the buzzer beside the number of the flat he wanted and waited, already doubting that this was a good idea. But he’d never been good at making smart decisions. He’d always been reckless. 

“Who is it?” The familiar voice stung Harry. He was about to reply when Malfoy spoke again. But not to him. “Shh, flower, I’m trying to find out who’s disturbing us.” There was laughter in his voice and he could hear a stifled, female giggle. 

This was a bad idea. Harry felt cold. He leaned his head against the brick wall. But as well as being reckless, he was stubborn. “Harry Potter,” he said quietly. 

There was a pause. And a faint conversation. Harry couldn’t make it out and didn’t try. 

“Come up.” 

“Are you sure? Isn’t there someone there?” 

“ _She’s just leaving_ ,” Malfoy announced loudly, and again there was that sickly sweet giggle. “Come up,” he repeated. And the door opened to allow Harry access. 

Malfoy was waiting for him, leaning against the doorframe, hair tousled, lean and tall, statue-like. 

“Potter,” he drawled, as Harry came up the stairs, “Long time no see.” 

Harry just nodded slightly. As he brushed past Malfoy into the apartment, he caught the smell of firewhisky, reminding him of too many stale, sour nights spent alone, too many unintentional sunrises reflected in his glasses. 

The room was empty. The girl had obviously apparated away. 

“So, what brings you round here?” Malfoy asked casually, shutting the door behind him. It was like he didn’t care, like they were just casual acquaintances, or friends who used to be close, now barely clinging together by a string, more strangers than friends. 

Harry shrugged. 

“Not very sociable today, are you?” 

“Much like your girlfriend,” Harry shot back. 

Malfoy blinked. “My girlfriend?” 

“Yeah, I could hear her giggling away over the intercom,” Harry said, and he felt his face twisting into a cruel sneer. Malfoy brought out the worst in him. But he also brought out the best. He was a figure of extremes, pulling Harry from emotional highs to cutting lows. 

“I don’t know why you bothered coming over if you’re just going to be moody,” Malfoy said, ignoring Harry’s remark and sitting down on the couch, draining the last golden sip from a glass sitting on the coffee table. Harry noted a second empty one stood beside it. “Do you want a drink?” 

“Not if it’s your second offer of the day.” 

“You’re behaving childishly, Potter. Wait - are you jealous?” A sly smile stretched across Malfoy’s face and Harry fidgeted uncomfortably. 

“Of course I’m fucking not.” 

“You are,” Malfoy said, smug and self-satisfied, reaching to pour himself another drink from the half-empty bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky. 

It was too much - Malfoy’s taunting, that high giggle of the girl laughing at him, Ginny’s cold letter, and he found himself snapping, knocking the glass out of Malfoy’s hand. It shattered on the carpet. Malfoy was silent for a moment, raising an eyebrow. Then he extracted his wand from his pocket and muttered: “Reparo,” and the glass became whole again. He held it between his hands as if considering it. Finally, he said, “Tell me what’s wrong, Potter.” 

Harry sat down with a sigh on the couch beside him, placing his head in his hands. 

“Ginny wants a divorce. She said I either come back to her, or that’s it. Forever.” She was as stubborn as he was. She meant it. 

Malfoy became still. “And you don’t want that?” 

“No - well, I don’t know. But I have to decide soon. She’s filing papers at the end of this week if she doesn’t hear from me.” He ran his fingers through his untameable hair. “You know what, I will have that drink.” 

“Good idea.” Malfoy waved his wand, leaning back as the second glass filled with firewhisky. 

As Harry gulped it back he didn’t even care there were deep red lipstick marks on it. 

“Well, Potter, I think you need to answer this: what _do_ you want?” He looked straight into Harry’s eyes, unblinkingly. Harry gazed back into those rain-coloured eyes. He felt suddenly warm. Of course, it was just the firewhisky. He looked away from Malfoy and into his glass. 

“I don’t know that either. I’m not much of a hero, am I?” 

“No, you’re not,” Malfoy agreed, leaning forward to pour him more alcohol. “What kind of hero drinks firewhisky in the afternoon on a weekday with his antagonist?” He grinned. 

“I don’t think you’re the antagonist,” Harry said carefully, “More of the anti-hero.” 

“So your opposite, then?” 

“I guess so.” 

“Well, you know what they say,” Malfoy said, chuckling, “Opposites attract.” 

They were silent for a moment, both sipping their drinks. 

Malfoy was always there, in his head, and, it appeared, physically as well. He had been there from the very beginning, when Harry had first learned that he was a wizard, that he was special, something he would never thought possible as the Dursleys had made it clear to him that he would never - could never - amount to anything. 

Then Malfoy said suddenly: 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He didn’t meet Harry’s eyes. 

“What?” 

“Pansy. Parkinson, from Hogwarts, remember? She was around before you came. We’re just friends. She’s dating someone.” 

“Oh.” 

“Then do you - have one? A girlfriend?” 

Malfoy got up forcefully. “You’re such an idiot, Potter. And here I was thinking I wanted to fuck you again, but not if you’re going to be so damn stupid.” 

“What? What do you mean?” Harry held his breath. He felt like he was sledding, perched at the top of the hill, seconds away from tipping forward and sliding down it, uncontrollably, exhilaratingly. 

Malfoy exhaled irritably. “God, you really are thick, aren’t you. I guess I’ll have to fucking spell it out for you. _I. don’t. like. girls._ ” 

Harry wanted to say he didn’t either, but that would be a lie. He would always love Ginny’s softness and her curves and her sweet gingerbread scent. But he also wanted Malfoy’s harsh angles and unpredictability. “I like you.” 

Malfoy turned around, slowly. He grinned suddenly, wolf-like, as if his prey had stumbled unknowingly right into his den. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Take off that shirt.”


End file.
